


Benefits of Mischief

by SunnySidesofBlue



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bondage, M/M, PWP, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 08:57:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnySidesofBlue/pseuds/SunnySidesofBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prowl is tense after another long day at his desk. Optimus is all too happy to help him relax. Shameless PWP</p>
            </blockquote>





	Benefits of Mischief

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a kinkmeme fill and the second first fanfic I ever wrote

_Those three pranksters are going to be the death of me._  
  
Prowl sighed tiredly and filed yet another report. The whole base had been topsy-turvy all day, all thanks to an “innocent” prank war between Jazz and the Twins that had somehow gotten out of hand, leaving half the rec room explosively repainted, landing Perceptor and Mirage in the medbay and the aforementioned culprits in the brig. The SIC knew that a certain amount of mischief was only good for morale but he positively hated it when it got out of proportion, causing unnecessary damage and even more paperwork for him. Not to mention he’d still have to scrub the rest of the pink paint from his door wings.  
  
As if he didn't already have enough to do. He hadn’t even had a chance to spend quality time with his bondmate since… well, he didn’t even want to think about that. Tonight was supposed to have been one of their exceedingly rare evenings off together, but now it was getting late and he still had a few hours of work to look forward to before he could call it a day.  
  
For a bot famous for his never-ending patience, Prowl was feeling remarkably annoyed.  
  
That feeling didn’t diminish when there was a tap on his door and Jazz strolled in, as usual without waiting for an answer. If Prowl had been the kind of mech to scowl he certainly would have done so now. Instead he merely raised one optic ridge and asked “Aren’t you supposed to be in the brig?”  
  
“So Ah thought,” the other black and white answered, and Prowl couldn’t help feeling a little bit smug when he saw the somewhat less than pleased expression on the saboteur’s face. “But Prime let me out an’ sent me ‘ere to relieve ya for the rest of the evenin'. To be honest Ah’d rather take brig time than desk work any day o’ the week, but orders are orders, so…”  
  
He made a helpless little gesture and Prowl suddenly had to smile.  
  
“You know, Jazz, I think that’s more or less the point with a punishment – it’s supposed to be unpleasant enough to deter you from doing the same thing again.“  
  
“Yeah, yeah, why don’t ya rub it in?” Jazz said and then grinned. “So, off ya get, Ah suppose big bot had a reason to want ya off duty fer tonight, so ya’d better get back to yer quarters before he starts feelin' lonely.”  
  
Prowl was too tired – and, to be perfectly honest, too pleased with this sudden turn of events – to scold the saboteur for his not-so-subtle innuendo. Instead he got up from his seat, wincing a little when his back and joints protested against the movement. He had as usual been sitting still for far too long and felt stiff as a poker. Ah, well, at least he would have some well-earned time off now, without having to worry about the building pile of work on his desk. Despite his obvious lack of enthusiasm about it, Jazz was a reliable and comparatively efficient office worker when he put his mind to it. Which, admittedly, didn't happen often, but at least the tactician knew he could trust the mech to do the job properly.  
  
“Very well then,” he said as he left the desk and made for the office door. “I wish you a pleasant evening, Jazz.”  
  
Jazz gave him a theatrically sour look as he slumped down into the seat Prowl had recently occupied, but then he grinned again, a devilish glint flashing in his visor.  
  
“Oh, by the way, Prowler...”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Ah have to say pink is absolutely yer colour, ya should consider adding it to yer colour scheme.”  
  
Prowl rolled his optics but didn’t dignify the saboteur’s gibe with an answer. He left for his and Optimus’s quarters.  
  
***

The quarters were empty when Prowl got there. A little disappointed that his mate wasn't there Prowl made for their private wash rack, determined to get rid of the pink paint. As the steaming water hit his frame he shuttered his optics and let out a small groan at the feeling. Nothing like a nice, hot shower to relieve a stiff and aching frame.  
  
Well, there _were_ even better ways of relaxing, of course, but for the time being he was quite content with what he had.  
  
After just standing under the running water for a while Prowl finally sighed, reached for the bottle of solvent and began applying it to his frame.  
  
“Would you like some help with that?”  
  
Prowl started, not having heard anyone enter, but relaxed immediately when the voice registered.  
  
“Gladly, if you don't mind,” he greeted his bondmate.  
  
Optimus, battle mask retracted, gave him a warm smile.  
  
“I most certainly don't mind,” he said, taking the sponge and the solvent and began scrubbing away the pink stains on Prowl's back and doorwings.  
  
Prowl gave a contented sigh and shuttered his optics. He always loved it when those big, gentle hands touched him, whether erotically or innocently like this. It was very soothing and helped relax the tense cables in his back a little.  
  
“I wonder why it's always pink,” Prime mused as worked on some of the tougher stains, though careful not to damage the paint beneath.  
  
“Hmm?” Prowl answered, a bit slow in registering Optimus's words. Those hands on his back felt _divine_. “Oh, that. Probably because it's sharp and bright and clashes horribly with almost everything here on the base. Universal prankster's calling card, I guess.”  
  
Optimus chuckled.  
  
“Just to show you how benevolent I am I won't tell Elita you said that.”  
  
Prowl couldn't help laughing.  
  
“She would tear me apart, I imagine. Your sister has a temper that can almost rival Ratchet's at times. By the way, is she still flirting with him?”  
  
“Every chance she gets,” the bigger mech replied, clearly amused. “It'll be interesting to see who gives in first.”  
  
“Indeed. I'm fairly certain Smokescreen has a betting pool running on them by now.”  
  
“Probably. There you go,” Optimus said as he rinsed the final splotches of solvent foam from the Praxian's door wings. “Good as new.”  
  
“Thank you, that was just what I needed. I am so stiff I doubt I'd even have managed on my own.”  
  
Optimus gave the black and white mech a pointed look.  
  
“I know it's no use saying this, but you have to delegate more, Prowl. I know you take all that paperwork to make it easier for me to handle my other duties, and I'm grateful for that, but workaholic or not you can't do everything yourself. Jazz can handle reports as well as you do, even though he makes a fuss every time you ask him, and Smokescreen is a competent tactician – make use of them. No-one is going to begrudge you an extra hour off now and then, especially considering that you have longer shifts and fewer days off than any of us here, myself included.”  
  
“I know, it's just... you know I dislike not having a complete overview of the data flow. I'm always afraid someone else might miss some small but vital piece of information that could interlock with and affect the bigger picture.”  
  
“I could make it an order, you know.”  
  
Prowl chuckled tiredly.  
  
“I’m afraid you’d have to tie me down to stop me. It’s simply the way I function.”  
  
Still with his back to his bondmate, the tactician did not see the sudden, playful glimpse of mischief in the bigger mech’s optics.  
  
“Well, if you are going to be stubborn about it, at least allow me to help you untangle those tense cables of yours,” Optimus said. “Lie down and I'll give you a massage.”  
  
That, at least, Prowl did not have to be told twice. He lay down on their berth, face down and arms stretched to form a cradle for his head. He had never asked how Optimus had come to learn massage, but he was very grateful for it. This was far from the first time had come back to quarters with shoulders and back aching after a very long day practically glued to his desk.

Straddling his bondmate's thighs to get a good working angle Optimus placed his large hands on his mate's back and slowly began kneading, working his way from the small of the back all the way up to the base of the helm, carefully yet firmly pressing against the slightly pliable armour plates to reach the cables beneath.  
  
Prowl couldn't quite suppress a moan of contentment and his engine purred happily. _This_ was the perfect way to relax. He felt stress and tension slowly beginning to ebb away as those wonderful hands found and untangled knot after knot in his back and shoulders. He shivered a little when Optimus reached the hinges of his door wings. Those were sensitive enough to begin with and even more so now, but his bondmate already knew that and applied just the right amount of pressure to make it enjoyable rather than painful.  
  
“Feels good?” the bigger mech asked, shifting slightly to better reach Prowl's neck and shoulders.  
  
“Mmmmm,” was all the response the Praxian gave, too swept up in wonderful sensations to bother formulating something more elaborate. Right now he wanted nothing more than to stay floating in this pleasurably relaxed state forever.  
  
Prowl didn't realise he'd dozed off until he was pulled out of recharge by a needy whimper from his own vocaliser. He unshuttered his optics and was surprised to realise that he still couldn't see, and even more so when he discovered that his wrists seemed to be welded to the berth for all he could move them.  
  
“Wha…” he murmured sleepily and reflexively tugged at the restraints.  
  
“Easy,“ the warm, purring voice of his bondmate whispered into one of his audios, and Prowl realised that the reason he'd woken up was that Optimus was now fondling his doorwings. It was miles different from the earlier massage; this touch was much lighter, softer and left his entire sensory net tingling.  
  
“What are you doing?” he asked, processor still foggy from recharge.  
  
“I’m only acting on that piece of advice you gave me before, remember?”  
  
Prowl understood what Optimus was referring to and groaned.  
  
“I was being rhetoric and you know it,” he said, trying very hard to sound annoyed and failed miserably. “Don't you think I've already had my fair share of mischief for today?”  
  
“There's mischief and mischief, you know,” the big red mech said, placing a kiss on his pinioned lover's neck.  
  
“Mhm, and this would be...?” Primus, it was hard to focus with those teasing hands on his door wings!  
  
“The latter.”  
  
Another involuntary moan escaped the tactician's vocaliser as Optimus dug a finger into an extra sensitive spot just below the right door wing hinge. Prowl couldn't help arching into the touch.  
  
“And what, pray tell,” he argued, voice slightly breathy, “does mag-locking me to the berth and blindfolding me have to do with delegating work?”  
  
“Just relax and I'll show you. I want you to let go of everything and just receive, for once.”  
  
With that the Autobot leader returned his full attention to his mate's frame. While his hands were busy caressing whatever plating they could currently reach he let his lips and glossa play their way from the black and white's neck to the door wings, enthusiastically kissing the edges of the sensitive panels. Another loud and highly undignified sound escaped Prowl's vocaliser as he felt the warm, moist glossa investigating every square inch of his hinges while hands moved up to hold his doorwings still. It was wonderfully erotic and his internal cooling fans kicked up two levels at once as his engine revved in approval of the sensation.  
  
“Oh yes, there!” he panted as Optimus nibbled teasingly at a small bunch of cables. “Oh please, do that again!”  
  
The bigger mech was happy to oblige. He always felt a small amount of pride when he managed to get that kind of reaction from his normally stoic mate.  
  
After a while Optimus let go of the door wings and kept working his way down the tactician's back, lips and glossa following the line of the back strut, loving and teasing at the same time, while his hands skilfully sought out and caressed the nearly invisible transformation seams in his bondmate's back and sides. For every gap in the armour his fingers found and explored he was rewarded by another moan of pleasure.

After kissing his way all the way down the by now fully relaxed back of his bondmate Optimus sat back, taking his hands of the beautiful frame they had been enjoying. The sudden lack of stimulation made the pinioned black and white squirm and mumble in protest. Optimus looked down at the mech on the berth beneath him and felt his own engine revv hard and his cooling fans kick up yet another notch. The sight of his bondmate, bound and blindfolded, head halfway turned and lips parted in arousal, systems racing with want and need, was almost enough to send the larger mech straight into overload. His interface panel was heating up something fierce and he was almost painfully aware of his throbbing spike that wanted nothing more than to eagerly bury itself inside the warm, slick valve of his mate.  
  
With an effort he controlled himself. This wasn't about him, this evening was all about Prowl and he was not going to let his own eagerness get the better of him.  
  
Edging himself further back on the berth he shifted positions, gently pushing his lover's legs apart and positioning himself between them. Stroking his hands along the inside of those sinfully beautiful thighs he smiled as his mate eagerly pushed back as far as his restraints allowed him, obviously wanting those fingers to go somewhere higher.  
  
“Please!” Prowl groaned wantonly as his lover's hands just kept stroking his thighs and hips, always turning away just before they reached the heated panel between his legs.  
  
Moving one arm to support himself, Optimus once again leaned forward over his bondmate's frame and placed a kiss on the edge of his red chevron.  
  
“Please what?” he purred teasingly into the tactician's audio.  
  
The mere vibrations of that soft, deep voice sent an almost painful surge of desire straight down to Prowl's interface units and he moaned again.  
  
“Stop... teasing me!” he finally managed to say.  
  
Optimus laughed quietly and let one of his hands slide down from Prowl's hip and in between his legs, suggestively stroking the lower part of the interface cover.  
  
“You mean like this?”  
  
Prowl's sensory net exploded with pleasure at the touch and his answer was far from coherent, but Optimus chose to interpret it as a “please, continue”.  
  
“Then why don't you open up for me?”  
  
In the haze of pleasure and desire it actually took Prowl a few seconds to collect enough focus to find the right command to retract his panel, and Optimus used that time to lift his mate by the hips, grab a few cushions and arrange them under his lover so that Prowl's bared valve ended up in a nicely accessible position without him having to support himself.  
  
Prowl barely had time to register his new position before a finger slowly began tracing the outer rim of his valve, making him whimper as new waves of pleasure flushed through his systems and sent his temperature soaring. He tried to push back, so desperately wanting it inside him, but the restraints effectively stopped him from doing so.  
  
“Please!” he moaned between ragged intakes. “Please.. need... aahh!” he cried as his lover finally obliged him and allowed the finger to slide into his eagerly lubricating valve, setting off half a dozen sensory nodes at once. Prowl was suddenly very grateful for the support of those cushions, without which he would certainly have collapsed.  
  
Optimus shuttered his optics, focusing solely on his bondmate's needy sounds and the exquisitely soft feeling of the valve lining against his finger. Once again he was overtaken by an almost overwhelming need to unsheathe his spike and claim that inviting opening, but he managed to hold back this time as well. Not only did he want to draw this out as far as possible, he knew his mate's valve would need some further preparation before it could take his girth.

Prowl was almost incoherent from the maddeningly wonderful stimulation his sensory net was subjected to. The slow, tactile seduction had heated his frame and systems like nothing on earth, and that had only been the beginning! He tugged at his restraints in frustration. He wanted his lover to know how he felt, praise him for the skill of his touch, rage at him for not granting him the release his keyed up systems so badly wanted, but when a second finger was suddenly inserted in his valve, stretching and stroking, words became too complicated to process and the only sounds to leave him were a few unarticulated noises of desperate desire.  
  
After scissoring his fingers for a while, making sure his partner was stretched, relaxed and wet enough to receive him, Optimus finally allowed his own interface cover to retract, baring his large and very much ready spike. With a moan of pleasure of his own he lined up with the inviting opening of his bondmate's valve and slowly began to push himself in.  
  
“Oh Prowl...” he moaned as he felt the unimaginable tightness squeeze around his spike and heard the most beautiful sound of unadulterated pleasure escape from his bondmate's vocaliser. He continued with gentle, shallow thrusts, inching his way into the most private depth of his beautiful black and white. Finally wholly sheathed he held completely still for a few moments, basking in the feeling of the physical union, before slowly pulling almost all the way out again.  
  
The feeling of being so completely, blissfully _filled_ was almost too much for Prowl's racing systems to handle. There wasn't a single sensor node in his valve that wasn't set off by the glorious friction against the burning spike. As his lover pulled out and didn't instantly re-enter the Praxian groaned in disappointment and managed to focus his foggy processor enough to press a half-dazed _please!_ from his vocaliser. The plea was almost too quiet to be heard, but Optimus caught it nonetheless and obliged by once again filling his mate to the brim. Then, setting a firm and steady pace, he began thrusting, back and forth, in and out, finally letting his own lust and desire shine through and take control.  
  
It didn't last long, couldn't last long with how revved they both were. One particularly deep thrust sent Prowl tumbling over the edge with a wordless cry of absolute ecstasy. His overload triggered that of his mate as his valve clamped down hard on the throbbing spike, milking it of its silvery, viscous transfluid.  
  
The sight and sounds of his bondmate's overload brought Optimus almost as much pleasure as his own release. The combined effect nearly made him collapse on top of Prowl, but somehow he managed to catch himself before putting his full weight on the smaller mech's frame. He really, really didn't want to spoil this moment by accidentally hurting him. Instead he supported himself on slightly shaking arms as he bent down and placed a kiss on the white helm. He wasn't sure if his bondmate had recovered enough to actually hear him, but it didn't really matter. Pressing another gentle kiss on the side of the helm he whispered softly into Prowl's audio.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
He was rewarded by a small, dreamy smile.  
  
***

It was quite a bit later. The two bots lay curled up on the recharge berth, enjoying the calm and basking in each other's presence. Letting their sparks speak for them, singing of love and devotion, none of them had uttered a single word in the aftermath of their lovemaking.  
  
Prowl was the one to finally break the comfortable silence.  
  
“You know,“ he said with a crooked smile, “I would never have thought you had such… impish tendencies before.”  
  
Optimus laughed complacently, the rumbling of his voice sending pleasant vibrations through Prowl’s frame as the Praxian pressed tighter against the broad, red chest.  
  
“You have no idea,” Optimus said, still smiling. “There was a time in my youth when I could probably have given our resident twins a good run for their money in the prank department.”  
  
Prowl groaned in feigned dismay at the idea.  
  
“Primus, protect me! I seriously hope those two hellions don’t find out, or they’ll be taking every opportunity to turn that into a challenge.”  
  
Optimus placed his arms around his mate, holding him close, and Prowl’s engine purred happily as a hand lightly stroke the upper edge of one of his door wings in a slightly teasing manner.  
  
“Well, I guess I’ll have to keep my… what did you call them? Ah yes, “impish tendencies” confined to quarters, then, don’t I?” Optimus replied, giving Prowl's chevron a suggestive nibble.  
  
Prowl turned his head and looked up at his bondmate's face, not at all surprised to find him grinning and with a distinctively mischievous glint in his optics.  
  
“Is that a promise?” he asked.  
  
“Very much so.”  
  
Prowl sank back against his bondmate's frame and entered recharge with a contented smile on his lips. Come to think of it, maybe mischief wasn’t such a bad thing, after all.  
  
 _The End_


End file.
